Curves For The Lone Alpha (A Big Girl Meets Bad Wolf Romance) by Molly Prince Page A

there was no
authority that I knew of that would send him to kill someone.
    If James killed this Travis, no matter what Travis had done,
he would be a murderer. The thing that really scared me was I had somehow got
the impression that Travis was not the first. That this is what James did. He
was a killer.
    I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I was surprised to
find I didn’t feel outraged. My father had fought and killed for his country.
It wasn’t something he relished, it wasn’t even something he was proud of, even
if others were proud of him for serving. It was just something he did because
the situation demanded it. Could the same be said for James? Was I in a
position to pass judgement when I wasn’t fully aware of his situation?
    To think that way felt an awful lot like I was trying to
rationalize something I really should have more of an issue with. But the truth
was… I didn’t. There was something between James and me and I wanted to explore
it. I wanted to explore him. All of him, even his deep dark secrets.
    I was still worried and fretting about this when I heard the
deep roar of his motorbike heading towards the cabin, seconds later I felt his
presence and before I had fully come to terms with the fact that he was alive,
that he was alive and had returned to me, I heard his footsteps on the deck.
     
    - X -
     

Chapter 9: Carrie
     
    James nudged the splintered door open with his foot and
stood for a moment on the threshold of the cabin. He was wearing a worn,
stained t-shirt, a denim jacket that was way too big and a pair of jeans that
were way too tight. I don’t know where or how he’d acquired his new wardrobe
and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
    Beyond his attire, there was something different about him.
Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. His face was a mask or restrained
emotion, but his body language spoke volumes. The bond was still there, that
inexplicable closeness we had both experienced, but I couldn’t see beyond that.
I inhaled, trying to read his scent. But outside of a half-remembered dream my
human senses just weren’t up to the job. It made me feel inadequate.
    Looking at his posture I would have sworn a great weight had
been lifted from his shoulders. And yet it didn’t look like this had offered
him any relief. If anything he looked more concerned, more serious, than he had
done earlier.
    “Is it done?”
    It may as well have been a rhetorical question. If the
answer was “no” he wouldn’t be standing here in front of me. It was done. He
had killed a man.
    I didn’t know what this act had done to him, nor what it
would take for him to be whole again. The only thing I knew was that I wanted
to be there for him. I wanted to help him come to terms with his actions and
heal. Whatever it took.
    I stood to face him and let the blanket that covered me
slide to the floor. I was naked before him, offering myself unconditionally. I
felt, for the first time in as long as I could remember, no shame as a man’s
eyes darted back and forth over my bare flesh. I felt, again for the first time
in as long as I could remember, no fear of rejection. I may not have shared his
heightened senses, but I knew one thing for certain. He wanted me as much as I
wanted him.
    In two strides he was on me. His hands cupped my ass and
pulled me closer, forcing me onto my toes so my lips could meet his. I gasped,
both at how cold his hands were from the ride and the shocking ferocity with
which he kissed me. He was beyond hungry. He was starving. He kissed me as if I
were the only thing that could sustain him. Perhaps I was.
    I groaned into his mouth as I surrendered completely. My
naked body soft and pliant against the coarse fabric of his found clothes. He
sensed it. He sensed my surrender in a way I never could. He smelled it on me
and he took advantage of it.
    When he came up for air he shifted position and slid a leg
between mine,  pushing the rough denim
firm against my bare crotch as